


evening primrose

by violetstorm



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Coping, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 11:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetstorm/pseuds/violetstorm
Summary: prompto finds an old friend in galdin quay. they miss noctis, too.





	evening primrose

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote half of this in a fever dream and the other half while barely awake at 2am so if the tenses are confusing or anything, i'll apologize for that /////
> 
> enjoy~~!

It’s been a long time since Prompto visited Galdin Quay.

He had no reason to during the darkness. Not much time for relaxing and no resources there, either. The hunters abandoned it, too, and once the number of demons increased, so did the thieves and the desperate. The years haven’t been kind on the resort, boardwalk is littered with holes and rotted wood, lights no longer working.

The inn’s not any better. The beds have lost their sheets and they’re stained with god-knows-what. The chairs and tables are knocked over, and the kitchens are dirted, so different from the pristine shine they used to have.

Even with the sun back, there’s not many people here. He spots some stragglers, hiding under the shade of palm trees or trying to salvage what they can from the resort, but most people are still holed up in their homes, too afraid that the sun’s only temporary.

He would have thought that more people would come once the sun came back, eager to spend a day at the beach with a hot sun after so long without it. 

Prompto’s  _ definitely  _ not one of them, though. He’s not here to bathe in the sun; he’s long since stopped enjoying its warmth. Sure, it’s nice, after a decade of darkness, but the bright light, the daytime, it’s just a constant reminder of what he lost. The night’s not any better, though— they bring back too many memories of long sleepless nights, deep talks on motel rooftops, stargazing and pointing out constellations.

Dusk, the sun setting, Prompto hates that too. Every time he watches the sun vanish beneath the horizon, he’s filled with a terror of demons and thoughts of  _ what if it vanishes again? What if it’s for forever this time? _

But, there’s nothing Prompto hates more than the dawn. He’s always loved it, before. He’d wake up early to go jogging in Insomnia as the world woke up around him, with nothing but the brisk breeze and birds for company. And when he lost that in Insomnia’s fall, he relearned to love it when he’d crawl out of a tent pitched on a haven to the sounds of Gladio working out and Ignis promising a good breakfast, Noct sleepily clinging onto his leg to try and get him to lay back down.

Sunrise is the most beautiful time of the day. And Prompto fucking  _ hates  _ it for that because nothing that beautiful should have came out of Noct’s sacrifice— his death. Every day, he wakes up to the sun cheerfully reminding him that Noct’s buried six feet fucking under and he’s  _ alone.  _

He’s feeling more broken and in pieces than ever, even if the world’s slowly starting to rebuild itself. Cor was the first person to propose a plan to start moving people back into Insomnia and fixing it up or some shit. Prompto wasn’t paying much attention when the Marshal was talking. His mind was still stuck on Noct and the vision of him impaled on the throne and he didn’t know how Cor could move on so fucking quickly. He wanted to yell at him, ask him why the fuck he was brushing what happened with Noct under the rug.

But that’s just what life does, y’know. Life moves on, no matter what happens, and Cor was just following that. Maybe the fact that he watched three kings die before him helped.

Ignis and Gladio, they were ready to help the Marshal. But when they looked at Prompto, he’d shaken his head before the question even fell from their lips.

“Sorry, guys. I… I’m not ready yet. I… can’t. Not just yet.”

They shared a look, and nodded. Ignis stared right at him with his dead-eyed gaze and still, Prompto felt like he was on display. “It’s okay, Prompto. Take all the time you need.”

Gladio clapped him on the back. “Take care of yourself, yeah? Be careful.”

Prompto left Insomnia that same day, the sun high on the sky, with no idea where he was heading. All he knew at that point was that he couldn’t stay in Insomnia, not where he was seeing Noct at every corner.

_ (There’s the arcade we went to one time. Remember, Noct? You beat my high score there. It only took you like, thirty tries and we totally bombed that test the next day because we weren’t studying for it but that’s alright. Oh, oh! And there, by that street corner! That’s where we met that really mangy kitten. Too bad Iggy wouldn’t let you keep it. _

_ We had our third date at the diner over there. You kept stealing all my fries. Then when we had to go home, it started to pour. I remember running with you through the park and it was really wet and cold but I hadn’t heard you laugh so hard in a long time so it wasn’t so bad. Oh, god, remember when we saw Gladio on the street when we were skipping class and we tried to hide in that alleyway over there? I still think he wouldn’t have found us if you stopped giggling.) _

But there was nowhere else to go. Until Prompto’s legs started to ache from all the walking and just like that, he was transported back a decade and some later, when the sun was burning just as hot on his back.

_ “Guess we’re just gonna have to push her all the way.” _

Prompto had looked up, almost as if he’d been expecting to see the Regalia parked there, Ignis in the driver’s seat and Gladio and Noct pushing her along. But no, the Regalia’s gone, just like Noct. The memory, though, still brought a smile to Prompto’s face, even if it was a little forced, so that’s how he found himself in Galdin Quay, retracing the steps of their roadtrip.

Now that he’s here, though, he doesn’t know what he should do. He could relax, god knows he deserves it, but something tells him that leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts will make things ugly. He needs to keep his hands— and by extension, his mind —busy. 

He tries to remember what he did the last time he came to Galdin Quay. Took a bunch of pictures, probably. Raced Gladio on the beach or helped Ignis cook or watch Noct fish. But they’re not here with him right now.

If Prompto looks up, he can glance a faint silhouette at the corner of his vision, a fishing rod in hand and a smile on his face, but when he looks a little closer, it vanishes. The sun’s playing tricks on his eyes. 

He slowly walks across the sand, closer and closer to the water. His reflection in the waves is blurry.

Prompto stays there, for a long time, staring into the water, his reverie broken by a quiet  _ meow  _ from somewhere off to his side. He looks up quickly and gasps. It’s not just any cat he sees, standing there on the sand.

The cat’s thin, paper-thin, and when it meows, it’s voice (do cats even have voices?) is rough and quiet from disuse. Its hair is raggedy and matted, eyes a little less bright than Prompto remembers, but it’s  _ the  _ cat. He’s sure of it. It’s still as cuddly and kind as ever, and it’s got that spot over one eye that Noct had been so enamored with.

Noct…

How the hell did the cat survive? How the hell did it get to Caem then back to Galdin Quay and survive ten years of demons and darkness? It’s not like Galdin Quay was a protected place like Lestallum. Chances are, the cat’s been alone this entire time, surviving off of scraps. 

The cat stares at Prompto expectantly. He searches through his pockets and comes up with lint, spare gil and his camera. “Sorry, bud,” Prompto whispers. “Don’t have any food on me.”

It meows, and walks closer to Prompto. It looks around him, sniffs at his feet, then plants its butt on the ground and meows again. The smell of the ocean, salty, stings Prompto’s nose. He bites his lip.

“Sorry,” he says again. “He’s not here, either.”

Prompto crouches down and scratches the cat behind the ears, the way Noct used to. Or rather, he  _ tries  _ to. The second his hand touches the cat’s head, it flinches back. Maybe it’s from the years spent in darkness, hiding from demons. Maybe it’s because he’s not Noct.

It meows at him, one more time, like Prompto’s got Noct hidden away in his pocket or some shit. And that’s what sets Prompto off. 

“He’s not  _ here!  _ He doesn’t have food for you! He can’t get you anything! He’s  _ gone,  _ goddammit, he’s  _ gone!” _

And briefly, Prompto thinks he should be embarrassed for yelling at a cat in the middle of nowhere, but there’s tears running down his cheeks. He can’t  _ stand  _ the sight of the cat, all bones and scars and alive when Noct is fucking  _ dead.  _ He can’t look at the cat without being reminded of Noct, the way he spent all their fucking savings on a meal for the cat, the way he practically skipped to the pier to fish for the cat, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about it, the lilt in his voice, the softness in which he petted the cat his kindness for a simple animal the way he’d try to hide how much he cared under an apathetic front the way he’d try to hide the tilt of a smile when he’d fish and the way he was just  _ Noct  _ and—

“He’s _gone,”_ Prompto repeats. He sinks to his knees in the sand. His chin drops to his chest and he clenches his hands into fists. “I’m sorry. _._ He’s _gone_ and he’s not coming back and… It’s… I’m sorry.”

The cat meows. It noses its way onto Prompto’s lap. It’s light and its nails are long and sharp, but it nuzzles its head against Prompto’s arm. Tentatively, he strokes the cat’s head, and it begins to purr. 

“...Thanks, buddy.”

He sits there for a while, until the sky is painted red in the setting sun. He sits there for a while, until his tears have dried and his breaths begin to even out again. He sits there for a while, and the entire time, the cat sits on his lap, purring, and with every stroke of its patchy fur, Prompto feels a little better.

“I miss him too,” Prompto murmurs to the cat. “Y’know, when Ignis first told me about the prophecy— you remember Ignis, right? The guy with glasses? He cooked for you at Caem once. Anyways, when he told me about it, I thought that it wouldn’t be so different, y’know..? Not to say that the ten years without Noct was hard, but I thought that… since I spent ten years without him, I’d... I’d be used to him being gone?”

Prompto takes a breath. He thinks of Ignis and Gladio and the way they’d sit by his side, tell him that they’re there to listen if he needs to talk. He’s using a cat as a therapist and the thought is mildly sobering, but Prompto can’t bring himself to stop. It’s the most he’s said about Noct’s…  _ passing  _ since ever and it’s like a dam’s been opened. He can’t stop.

“...It’s not easier. It hasn’t gotten any easier. Whoever said time heals everything never had someone like Noct in their life. I kept preparing myself for the day he came back and I told myself that I couldn’t get too attached to him ‘cause he was just gonna leave right after but… he came back and I… just couldn’t bring myself to do it, y’know? I didn’t want him to go.”

The sun’s barely visible now.

“And now he’s gone. The world’s going back to normal and the sun’s come back and everybody’s happy. But I don’t know how I can be happy anymore. It’s just… hard.”

He sighs. It’s growing colder and he brings the cat closer to his chest— to warm the cat up or to warm himself up? Maybe both. The cat licks his chin, sandpapery rough. It’s tongue is dry but the cat seems content enough curled up in Prompto’s arms. It hasn’t stopped purring.

“I guess it makes sense. I mean, nobody can go back to normal so quickly after everything. Even Iggy and Gladio aren’t taking it well. But I also don’t wanna go back to being normal and all ‘cause I don’t wanna ever forget about Noct and what he did and be all happy without him… does that even make any sense?”

Probably not. Probably wouldn’t even make sense to a human, let alone a cat. But getting it all out, even if it’s a disorganized mess, has Prompto feeling better than he’s ever felt since Noct died. His chest is a little lighter, his shoulders less heavier. It’s like he can breathe again.

“Sorry for dumping all that on you. Just had to let it out, y’know? I didn’t mean to ramble for so long. Kinda getting cold out, too; we should start heading in. D’you have someplace to go?” Prompto sets the cat down, tries to give it a little push to get it moving. The cat just gives him a sharp stare (how the hell can a cat  _ do  _ that?) and crawls back onto his lap. “Guess not. How do you feel about bunking with me?”

It nestles deeper into his shirt. Prompto stands up, holding the cat tightly. “You’ve been pretty lonely too, huh? I’m not Noct, but maybe I could keep you company? I can’t fish either, but I can try catching something for you? And maybe I can take you to Ignis and Gladio. I’m sure they’d be happy to see you, too. You don’t have to be alone anymore, got plenty of people for ya.”

The cat purrs in response. 

“Okay then. Guess you’re stuck with me now, buddy.”

Prompto walks across the beach, leaving footsteps behind in the sand. The cat pricks its ears as it gazes over the water, like it sees somebody, but nobody’s there. “C’mon,” Prompto says. He keeps walking.

He walks tall, with the stars of the night watching over him.

**Author's Note:**

> did i really just go full hunger games on this? yes, i did. shamelessly. fight me.
> 
> (bonus) scrapped scene from original draft:
> 
>  
> 
> _Prompto picks the cat up by its armpits. Or whatever the cat-equivalent of armpits is. He stares into its eyes— blue. Bright blue, like the sky in the morning, like a certain somebody’s._
> 
>  
> 
> _“What should I name you?” Prompto asks, but the name’s already on his tongue. He hesitates for a moment, wonders if it’s okay to say it aloud. “Um… what do you think about… Noct?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The cat meows indignantly._
> 
>  
> 
> _“Yeah, you’re right. You’re not much like Noct. He’s a lot less cuddly. ‘Cept when he’s sleepy. Got any other ideas for names?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _The cat, predictably, does not say anything. He’s really losing it, isn’t it? He’s talking to a cat like it’s a fucking person and the stupidity of everything sends Prompto laughing, loud and clear. It’s the hardest he’s laughed in a while and he doesn’t know why. But it feels good. That’s what matters, right?_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of time to figure things out from here.”_


End file.
